


Interviews With the Empire

by triflingshadows



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triflingshadows/pseuds/triflingshadows
Summary: Something I wrote back in 2018 and never finished. Basically it’s several “interviews” by a character I made up named Revul Varethi, with various people from around Cyrodiil. There were going to be more, about 3 or so each from the other provinces, but I ended up abandoning it after the first 3 interviews
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	Interviews With the Empire

Interviews with the Empire, Vol. 1 

by Revul Varethi

Author’s Note: These interviews were collected over the years 3E 429 to 4E 2, throughout various cities, towns, and villages in Cyrodiil and the other Imperial Provinces of Tamriel. While I reported as faithfully as I could, I cannot be certain of the honesty of those I spoke with, and urge my readers to take their statements with caution.

Year One: 3E 429

Skingrad, Midyear 18, 3E 429

I had hoped to speak to the illusive Count Hassildor of Skingrad, but he was not accepting audiences for the entirety of my two month stay, so I opted instead for the Captain of this city’s guard, an Imperial named Dion. A vigilant watchman, with skin tanned from tireless hours of work in the city, and graying hair that showed his maturity, Dion was a comforting sight to a traveler such as myself staying alone in the city.

“Skingrad is mostly Imperial and Breton,” he reported, after I asked about the town’s demographic. “A few others, mostly Nords, and that Dark Elf alchemist. She just moved here from Morrowind.Falu, I think is her name? Falu... Hlaalu. I don’t really remember. Never spoke to her much, since she gives me the creeps,” Dion admitted. When asked to elaborate, he was unable to explain, only that she had seemed off to him.

“Nothing against her, of course. I’m sure she’s an upstanding citizen. That Glarthir fellow, though, the Wood Elf? Seen him around? Always sneaking, looking paranoid?” I had. He had eyed me suspiciously from the first day I had been in Skingrad. “Well, he’s crazy. Not just harmless, thinking he’s a dog or a teapot or something. We aren’t sure what he thinks, but just last month, he tried to recruit a traveler to be his spy. Nobody’s been hurt yet, but I feel like something bad’ll come of this. Not while I’m still Guard Captain, of course. No one’s in danger in Skingrad, under my watch.”

—————————————-

Anvil, Last Seed 30, 3E 429

Anvil is a sprawling town on the Abecean Sea. Though inside its walls, it’s a picture of prosperity, the dockside is a different matter altogether. There, I spoke with an Argonian laborer named Catches-Gray-Fish. He had been working at the Anvil docks, carrying cargo to and from storehouses and ships, and doing odd jobs, for over two decades now.

“It is not all bad,” he said of his occupation. “I get food, a bit of gold, and I’m happy enough. It’s hard work, but I can’t go to Black Marsh. Never even lived there.” 

Though he didn’t want to elaborate on his childhood, he did talk about the people he worked with- and for.

“Roshana- she’s a Redguard, the one with the long braids? She is my boss. She never treats me like anything less than the human workers, but her attitude is not held by others here.” At this he glanced over at a tall Imperial man, standing some ways down the docks from us. He was, at that moment, yelling something I couldn’t hear at workers carrying boxes to a newly docked ship. From the way the other non-human dockworkers had shied away from him, I gathered that he was somewhat well known for his biases.

“I don’t see what he wants,” Catches-Gray-Fish continued. “Isn’t the Empire in control of the world now? I know there was that... thing, 3 decades ago? I don’t remember any details, but it caused some unrest.” He was referring to the Imperial Simulacrum, the period of time beginning in 389 and lasting until 399, in which Imperial Battlemage Jagar Tharn had imprisoned the Emperor in Oblivion and taken his place. “Yeah, that. I was little more than a hatchling, then. I was in Morrowind then. The dark elves did not seem unhappy, when all was revealed, to see the Empire unstable. I for one don’t care. The Empire’s been around forever. One angry wizard won’t change that.”

—————————————

Chorrol, Evening Star 12, 3E 429

My first impression of the Fighters Guild headquarters in Chorrol was of a well-oiled machine. Bustling back and forth, carrying contracts, weapons to be sharpened, food to the table (for I had been invited to dinner with the Guildmaster, as well as a few other ranking officials within the guild), and laughing and talking all the while. From the upper landing came a mature Imperial woman: the Fighters Guild Master, Vilena Donton.

“Hail,” she greeted me, kindly. After exchanging pleasantries, we sat down to eat. Donton sat at the head of the table. To her right was a Dunmer man, and to her left were two youthful Imperial men. They introduced themselves as Modryn Oreyn, Guild Champion, and Vitellus and Viranus Donton, respectively. While Oreyn had worked with the Guild since the ending of the Arnesian War, Viranus and Vitellus were relatively new, only having been employed for three years. “Mother was too worried for us when we were younger,” Vitellus told me. “Finally, once Viranus reached his majority, she let us on. Of course, I could have joined a decade ago, but someone’s got to keep track of my brother,” he teased, as Viranus playfully swatted his arm.

“Well, I’m just glad you two are competent,” interjected an Orc sitting to my right. Introducing himself as Burag gro-Morkhazg, he said he’d been part of the guild for about 15 years, but he had only been in Cyrodiil since 417. “After Frostfall of that year, it didn’t feel safe on the Iliac Bay,” Burag explained. “It was real hard to know who to believe. The only thing I’m sure of is that time passed way too quickly. You don’t just forget two whole days of your life, you know. So I packed up and left. Orcs aren’t meant to do magic. Leave that to the elves and Bretons. And the first stop in Cyrodiil from High Rock, straight through Hammerfell, is Chorrol. The Guild gave me a place to sleep, and some work to do, so as far as I’m concerned I’m perfectly fine here.”


End file.
